We Were Meant To Be
by zalrb
Summary: Elena Gilbert has agreed to marry Damon. But the night before the wedding, she comes to realize what she's known all along: it's always been Stefan. In a four chapter series find out what happens when Elena confesses to Stefan that she's never stopped loving him. Does he feel the same way? What happens to Damon? Will there be a happily ever after? Read and satisfy your curiosity!
1. Chapter 1: Tell Me

"I'm getting married tomorrow."

Elena stood in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed red from the tequila, there was glitter in her hair, and she was wearing a flimsy gold tiara that curved into the word 'bachelorette' at the top. She was in the ladies' room at The Mystic Grill and could hear Bonnie, Caroline and Jo laughing raucously even though they were outside at the bar doing more shots and perhaps paying for more lap dances. Elena shook her head and tried to concentrate. She said the words again.

"I, Elena Gilbert, am getting married tomorrow. To Damon Salvatore."

She waited. Waited for a little flutter to tickle her chest, for an uncontrollable smile to possess her mouth, waited for nervous excitement to wreak havoc on her body, waited for some sort of unruly eagerness to overtake her, eagerness for the night to be over just so it could be tomorrow, just so she could finally _finally_ be married. She waited and she waited some more but none of those sensations came. Instead her stomach squirmed uncomfortably, her heart thudded anxiety into her veins; she almost felt sick with misgiving, with uncertainty. _But this is what you want_ she told herself. _You love Damon. You. Love. Damon._

And it was true. She did love him. It was why she was still with him, why she couldn't pry herself away from him … so then what was the problem? Why did she feel this way? Exhausted and worried and insecure — not in herself but in the relationship as a whole, in what the relationship could and would bring.

She put her hands to her face and took a deep breath then she moved her fingers away and closed her eyes and tried to picture the fantasy she'd painted for Damon once; tried to picture the bar, the loft, Tribeca. But the same thing happened that always happened when she attempted to envision that future; the loft morphed into a house, Tribeca blurred into a suburb and instead of seeing Damon, she saw herself coming home to Stefan — she saw the visions the travellers had tortured her with a year ago. Actually, it was as if she was reliving the visions, reliving the thrill of the moonlit kiss, the heart-stopping shock of the accidental proposal. And she felt it, felt it with her entire body; a longing for _that_ fantasy, a longing so intense it was almost painful to experience, a longing she had silently suffered from everyday since the fantasies had come to her. Elena squeezed her eyes shut for a second time. It made sense that she felt that way, she thought to herself. It made sense because that was the point of the visions, they were impossibilities meant to seduce both her and Stefan with the promise of true love, with the promise that they could and would find true love in each other. It had been a spell to bring the doppelgangers together. It wasn't real. The feelings _weren't real._

Except …

Except …

 _It was everything we wanted … it was a spell, showing us what we wanted to see …_

Elena thought back to when she'd been Elena Williams for a day and Stefan had been Stefan Cooper. She thought back to the dramatic way Stefan Cooper kicked a chair out of his way and stooped down on one knee, Elena's daylight ring in his hand and she couldn't help but grin at the memory. She pressed her lips together in an attempt to stop the grin from transforming into a goofy smile but her mouth wouldn't cooperate. Stefan's words echoed in her head: _You have always been my best friend … I have always loved you…_ and Elena felt her skin burn and roil as if she were about to convulse into a fit of giggles much like she did when she'd accepted Stefan's "proposal." None of it had been real and even so Elena remembered how natural it felt to say "yes" to marrying him, how excited she'd been at what that would mean and the disappointment that chilled her blood when she'd had to remind herself that they were merely pretending for the day. She remembered the profound loss that plagued her thoughts when she'd hugged him and said goodbye at the end of their make-belief new life, the devastation that shook her when he'd told her that she was in fact in love with Damon, which only meant there was no fathomable way for their make-belief life to become real.

She thought back to the night she transitioned, the night she became a vampire … the night she and Stefan spent on the rooftop of the Salvatore Mansion. She'd promised him forever and he'd produced her daylight ring from his pocket, slipping it onto her finger like an oath and she'd felt an instant calm soothe her, a sense of certainty that everything would work out as long as she'd continued to have moments like that one, moments with Stefan. Even the memory was enough to relieve Elena in present time — enough to still her mind and inspire her with faith that she'd be OK, that she'd feel certainty again as long as Stefan was in her life.

It was how she always felt when she saw him, heard his name: total serenity and the kind of hope that thrilled, that exhilarated. Her entire day would be made better just because she saw him for an instant, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth hours after being near him and the urge to touch him, to hug him, to hold him, forever agitated her body. There were times when the impulse was too much to contain and she had to throw her arms around his neck and feel him against her. Three years since they'd been together and she still felt everything she did when they'd been a couple and Damon … Damon … Damon …

Elena peered into her reflection's eyes, comprehension dawning her face. She understood now. And she had to go. Right away. Right this second. And no one could see her.

It took Elena no time at all to reach the Salvatore Mansion and she'd managed to slip out of The Grill undetected. None of the lights were on in the house but as Elena listened closely, she heard only one person inside, one person breathing, one person's heart beat. It was Stefan. She could tell.

Quietly, she skulked up the driveway and opened the door, creeping into the shadowed darkness of the foyer. The sound of glasses clinking came from the sitting room and Elena followed the noise until she saw Stefan sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace, his head lowered and a glass of whiskey pressed to his forehead. He looked … conflicted. Something Elena hadn't seen in years. She shifted her weight, making the floorboard creak and Stefan snapped his head toward her, putting his glass on the coffee table and standing up when he realized she was standing in the archway leading into the living room.

"Hey," he said, furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of her. "Shouldn't you be at your party?"

"Shouldn't you be at Damon's?" said Elena, walking down the steps. "Aren't you the one that planned it?"

"I was there. I left early. One of us has to be sober for your big day."

Elena smiled. "Right."

"Did you come here looking for him because—"

"No, Stefan. I…" Elena laughed nervously and sat down on the sofa. "I came by to see if _you_ were here, actually."

Stefan took a sip of his drink and sat down next to her, the orange flicker of the fire throwing both of their seated shadows against the wall. "What's up?" he said.

"I don't know," she said. "I guess it kind of felt necessary to see you tonight, like I had to thank you."

"For what?"

She looked at him and opened her mouth hesitantly. "Well, um. Hmm. OK. I want to thank you because I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, if I hadn't met you."

"Well yeah. It's because of me that you met Damon."

"No, that's not what I'm saying. How do I explain…" Elena shook her head quickly, clearing her throat. "You know I keep saying that you saved my life? And I don't mean that literally even though you've done that so many times too."

"Oh I know what this is," said Stefan. "You're taking this time to pay me back for all of the times I've kept you from dying. Now what kind of monetary value do you put on your own life?"

"Stefan," said Elena in playful reproach. She shoved him gently to the side and he grinned.

"OK sorry," he said. "What were you saying?"

Elena tilted her head affectionately and sighed. "I'm saying that I don't think I really knew what it was to love someone until I met you," she said. "And before we met … I didn't think my life would be anything but misery. But then you came along and …" She could feel her voice thicken, her eyes start to shine with unshed tears. "I could _enjoy_ things again, laugh again, I wanted to be alive. You make me want things. You bring me hope, you know? You never stopped doing that for me. I can love because of you, I'm happy because of you."

Stefan's lips quaked and he pulled them into a smile. "And it led you to Damon," he said, nodding his head. "I'm glad that I did that for you, that I brought you what you really wanted because that's all _I've_ ever wanted. For you to be happy. Really, Elena. And now you can love like that with Damon."

"No I can't, Stefan," said Elena. Stefan turned his head sharply toward her. "I can't love anyone how I love you," she continued. "It'd be impossible to try but still I've _been_ trying, I've been trying for three years and it just can't happen. I just can't feel that way with anyone else, about anyone else."

"Elena…"

She looked Stefan square in the eye, her expression resolute and timidly hopeful. "With Damon. Everything feels right for a moment and it's a _beautiful_ moment. It is. I need you to know that because he's your brother and you love him and you're protective of him so I want you to get that. Everything is right for a moment. But then I'm, I don't know, burnt out? Just empty and tired from trying to hold on to that one moment because I love him, you know, I love him enough to try and stick it out, to try and find another moment. I love him enough to pretend I'm not unfulfilled but I am. Being with him isn't just _right._ It's right now. It's for a little while. But you? You are always. You've always been always. I've never not been in love with you."

There was a pause in which Stefan stared at Elena, his expression unreadable. He then looked up to the ceiling and then lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, his jaw tightened and Elena watched him as he wrestled with whatever he was about to say. Finally, he looked back at her, his eyes pained and blazing with anger. "So is what you just said supposed to make me happy?"

"What I just said is supposed to be the truth."

"Are you sure, Elena? Are you sure that you aren't just freaking out about the idea of marriage and you're self-sabotaging just like Damon would do?" Elena tensed at hearing the anger in Stefan's voice. He continued. "Has his personality rubbed off on you that much that you would do this?"

"I'm not self-sabotaging."

"Sure," said Stefan sceptically.

Elena sighed. She knew what he was doing. He was hoping, wishing for this to simply be cold feet. Cold feet he could fix. The truth he couldn't.

"Stefan," said Elena, her tone gentle but determined. "From the minute Damon and I got engaged I've been reliving those visions the travellers made us fantasize about, remember? And just the joy that they brought … that's what speaks to me."

"So move to Ithaca instead of Tribeca. Buy a house. Maybe you can adopt—"

"It's not about the location, Stefan, it's not even about the kids. It's about you. It's about a life with you and how happy I was at seeing that life I built with you. I've been saying since we saw those visions that it was all a spell, a fantasy, I don't know, but the way I felt about the spell … that was real and I thought that it couldn't be real because it wasn't hard and what Damon and I had to be the path that I should go on because it was _so_ hard and there had to be a reason why every day was a struggle but —"

"But what? What are you saying? That you love my brother but you love me a little bit more?"

"It isn't like that."

"How do you expect me to react to this?" Stefan was yelling now. He stood up and gesticulated furiously. "It's the night before your wedding!"

"Timing was never really my strong suit," whispered Elena.

"And that makes this OK? I'm just supposed to forgive you for doing this to me? To Damon?"

"No." Elena stood up too and stepped toward him. He moved away from her but she grabbed his arm and he stilled, his body half-turned away from her.

"I hide from things," she said. "I avoid. I always have. I'm not proud of it it's my biggest fault. But you… you would never let me hide. Or avoid. Not when I started feeling something for Damon, not when Alaric died, not when I got my humanity back. So being with Damon, I think I avoided _you,_ I hid from you so I wouldn't have to face that choosing a life with Damon wasn't choosing a life I wanted for myself. I couldn't face that. Not after everything we all went through for me to make the choice that was Damon."

Elena watched as the hostility left the etches of Stefan's face; watched as his expression became anguished, devastated, as his eyes started to water. There seemed to be a tremor beneath his skin, causing his face to tremble. Elena felt her own eyes well once more with tears and she tightened her grip on Stefan's arm, easing him to her so that he slowly started to move so that he was turned completely to her. Their faces were inches from each other and Stefan swallowed hard, his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. Elena placed her palms on the sides of his face and immediately, Stefan grabbed her wrists; it was a warning but he did nothing to move her hands away and stared at her, his expression raw.

"I shouldn't even be here," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "None of this would happen if I just stayed at the party."

"Why didn't you?" said Elena, her eyes moving back and forth, forbidding Stefan to look away from her gaze.

"You know why I didn't," he said.

"Tell me."

"Elena, I can't."

"Yes you can."

"No, I…"

"Stefan." She gently gripped his face with her hands. He squeezed her wrists and closed his eyes.

"Please don't make me say it," he whispered. "Please don't make me hate myself more than I already do."

Elena sniffed. "You don't owe me a thing," she said. "But please. I need to hear you say it." She pressed her forehead against his so that their noses touched, their lips only a breath away from each other. Stefan moved his hands from Elena's wrists to the sides of her face as well, feeling her tears on his palm.

"I couldn't be there any longer," he said quietly.

"Tell me," she said softly.

"I don't want you to marry him, Elena."

And with no hesitation or preamble, she brought his lips to hers.


	2. Chapter 2: Painted Altar

Elena brought her lips to Stefan's and he kissed her with a passion he'd actively suppressed for months, for years; he kissed her with a passion that had become a part of his daily existence, with a passion that only ignited at her touch. Elena's mouth was fervent on his, urging Stefan to come undone within the embrace, to express everything he dared not allow himself to feel and her fervour compelled him to groan, low in his throat, to graze his parted lips along her jaw, down her throat, Elena sighing with each nip.

"I've missed this," she whispered in his ear. "Yes, I've missed this."

Stefan buried his face in her neck, nuzzling her with his nose, holding her to him with a firmness that would've crushed her if she were still human and she clutched the back of his head, her breathing turning shallow and ragged. Abruptly, Stefan pulled away and both he and Elena swiftly turned toward the entrance of the Salvatore Mansion.

"That's Damon's car," said Stefan. "He'll be here soon, you need to go."

Elena turned back toward him. "He needs to know I'm not marrying him."

"I know, I'll tell him."

"I should tell him, it's my choice."

"And your choice is me. I'm his brother. I've got to be the one to do it, Elena."

"We should tell him together."

"Why? Just to rub his face in it more? No. I'll tell him."

"Stefan…"

"Leave now before he sees you."

Elena looked like she was about to argue the point but kissed him instead, tempting Stefan to wrap his arms around her once more and the moment he could no longer bear not touching her, she was gone in a whisper of speed. The front door clicked open almost immediately after and Damon stumbled into the foyer, his face red, his mouth slackened into a stupid smile. Stefan folded his arms and tried as best as he could to grin back.

"Hello, Brother," he said.

Damon laughed; it was a lecherous sound. "You missed one hell of a party."

"Ah well, you know me," said Stefan as Damon staggered his way over to the living room. "I'm genetically predisposed to hate anything involving fun."

"No argument here." Damon eased himself onto the sofa Elena and Stefan had been sitting on only moments before and stretched his legs out so that he was lying down.

"I see that you've enjoyed your last few hours as a free man," said Stefan, staring at Damon, his eyebrows raised appraisingly.

"Hmm," said Damon in agreement. His eyes were closed and a smirk remained on his face. Stefan stared at him for a beat, pressing his lips together, feeling a sense of resolve building within him.

"Listen, Damon, about that—"

"You know I thought I heard Elena when I was on my way over here?" said Damon. He chuckled at his own stupidity. "How wasted am I?"

Stefan laughed nervously. "Yeah. I haven't seen you this drunk since you found out Katherine wasn't in the tomb."

Damon made a retching noise at Katherine's name. "Katherine," he said. "To think I wasted a hundred and forty-five years pining for her when the love of my life turned out to be her doppelganger. Imagine if I never figured that out? What kind of man would I be if it weren't for Elena?"

"Yeah. She saved you," said Stefan so quietly it was as if he were musing to himself instead of talking out loud.

"You both did," said Damon, sounding a bit more serious and a little less drunk. "Look, I don't do the whole _feelings_ thing but … I'm glad you're my best man. I'm glad that you never let me run from how I felt about her even with … your history with her."

Damon's words tore through Stefan and brought with them a shame that was suffocating, consuming, that made him want to rip himself apart. He had seen it from the beginning; how meeting Elena changed Damon, how he couldn't help but care for her, how his feelings for her outweighed his desire to enact vengeance upon Stefan; he'd witnessed how Elena's empathy, her compassion, her natural inclination to risk faith in people mended what Katherine had broken in Damon. It was almost miraculous, but…

But…

But what Stefan felt about Elena and because of Elena and for Elena was miraculous too. He'd known nothing but pain before her; every hour, every minute, every _second_ of every day had been excruciating. He'd felt burdened by his own existence. It'd been an odd sort of agony; to experience emotion so intensely but to only suffer guilt and sorrow so that happiness was something he'd been numbed to… and then he'd bumped into Elena at school, at the cemetery and they _talked._ Simply seeing her smile reminded him that there was beauty in the world, there for him to experience, and they'd connected. Instantly. Profoundly. And he felt it, what they did for one another, how they pushed each other forward, how they anchored one another, how they instilled in each other the will to enjoy life and how they shared the desire to enjoy it together, to build one with each other. It was because of Elena that Stefan could take the good with the bad without losing himself to darkness; it was because of Elena that he could feel completely, love completely … being with her had led to him being with Damon again. Was he about to betray that love he felt for her by betraying Damon? _But I'd be betraying him for her, betraying that love for … that love …_ Stefan closed his eyes, tormented by the mess he'd somehow landed himself in in only thirty minutes.

"Stefan?"

"Hmm?" Stefan opened his eyes and looked back at Damon who was eyeing him closely albeit tipsily.

"I'm bearing my soul to you, man," said Damon.

"Oh, right, yeah," said Stefan, nodding his head. "Yeah, I … I appreciate it. And, uh, you know what? I think we should sleep, get an early start tomorrow. Your—" Stefan swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Your big day. So I'll see you in the morning."

He didn't wait for Damon to respond before leaving the living room but instead of going to his bedroom, Stefan made his way up to the roof. This was where he stood the first day of school, determined and eager because he'd finally be able to meet Elena Gilbert and he'd _had_ to meet her; everything in his body had urged to hear her speak, see her laugh and he'd needed to be the person who inspired her to do those things. This was where they both sat when she'd became a vampire, their heads leaning against each other; both of them had promised the other forever in their own way — Elena had said the words and Stefan had made a vow with her daylight ring, with how he slipped it on her finger … and then they'd broken up not too long after that. And then she had chosen Damon. Even so, Stefan had never really left this rooftop; not after months and years of seeing Damon and Elena together because they way he loved her … that _was_ forever, it wasn't something that would or could ever go away; she'd awakened him and continued to awaken him simply with her presence. And now, now after all this time she was saying he did exactly that for her too? He couldn't deny it, he'd felt the bond between them long after she'd chosen Damon; he'd felt how comfortable and vulnerable they could be with each other, how there was this natural _intimacy_ with how they confided in each other, even looked at one another like a secret meaning had been passed between them. But she'd turned her back on all that. She'd wanted Damon. And now…Stefan buried his head in his hands. He'd thought leaving Elena to save Damon was the hardest thing he'd ever done, he didn't think it were possible for him to be even more conflicted than he was when he made that choice. And now here was, sitting on the roof, completely torn.

It was morning when Stefan left his spot on the roof. He'd seen Alaric enter the house to meet Damon on his big day, he'd seen them leave a half hour later, suits in their garment bags slung over their shoulders, he'd heard Alaric ask the question: "Where's Stefan?" as they walked to Damon's car to which Damon responded, "The freak is probably already at the hall making sure the flower arrangements are perfect or something." He'd seen them both drive off. Stefan jumped off of the roof, landing on the ground with casual agility and then began to walk, seeing if the movement of his feet would help clarify matters more. When he'd made it to the hall there were only three hours before the wedding.

Stefan slipped into the hall, using his speed to remain unseen, passing by the roses and candles, the fairy lights and tulle and the steady stream of incoming guests, making his way upstairs to where he knew the respective bride and groom quarters were. When he found the door to Elena's room, he heard his name.

"Stefan!"

He turned around quickly. Caroline came barrelling toward him, wearing a flowing lavender dress with a clipboard in her hand. "You're not in your suit! Do you know how close we are to starting? Where have you been?"

"I need to see Elena," he said.

"You can't. You need to go to Damon and Alaric and—"

 _"Caroline,"_ said Stefan so gruffly it made her jump. "It's important."

She pursed her lips. "OK fine. Five minutes."

Stefan opened the door and shut it behind him, walking into a very large room. The walls were painted with a large beautiful mural that replicated the ceremony room downstairs, from the hardwood floors to the chandeliers to the wedding altar. Elena was standing in front of a mirror and as soon as she heard the door close, she turned around swiftly to face Stefan and his breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a strapless white dress, the bodice was beaded and fanned out into a trumpet flare with silver detailing swirling around the material; her hair was ringletted and pinned atop her head with tendrils spiralling down and the only jewellery she donned was a simple heart-shaped necklace.

Elena hurried toward him. "Stefan," she said a note of panic in her voice. "Where have you been? I'm freaking out! Damon hasn't said anything to me at all and Caroline and Bonnie grabbed me from my bed and I couldn't tell them — I mean I'm standing here in this dress! What's going on?"

Stefan didn't say anything for what felt like a long time. He continued to gaze at Elena in her dress, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw clenched and his eyes red and anguished. He allowed himself one minute to envision himself downstairs waiting at the end of the aisle with a rose in his lapel and two men standing next to him; one minute to see himself in his mind's eye, waiting with the excited urge to bounce on the balls of his feet, his face alight with joy; one minute to indulge in the beautiful fantasy of waiting for Elena Gilbert to walk down toward him to be his wife for eternity. Then he closed his eyes and breathed a tortured sigh.

"I think," he said, his voice hoarse. "I think you should marry him, Elena."

"You _what?"_

"I think you should marry him," he repeated. His tone was more urgent now, desperate. "You said it yourself. You said that you loved him—"

"It's not enough!" said Elena incredulously. "It's never _been_ enough."

"It was enough for you to stay with him for three years," said Stefan harshly.

"Did you listen to anything I said last night?" said Elena. "I care about Damon, Stefan. He's in my heart, OK? He does mean _something_ to me but it's not right, you have to accept that, every day with him I felt it, I felt the emptiness, I knew something was missing and I love him enough that I pretended that none of that mattered, that being miserable makes me happy but Stefan, you … You make me _want,_ you make me want to get the most out of life and I want to share all of my experiences with you, I want to experience _with_ you every day. _Always._ Does that mean nothing to you?"

Stefan looked at her sharply, teary-eyed. "Trust me, Elena, everything you feel I feel tenfold."

"So then why—"

 _"I can't do this to him, can't you see that?"_ Stefan gesticulated wildly. He walked to the other side of the room to give himself something to do, standing in front of the part of the mural with the chandeliers. "I can't take away his happiness again. I forced him into eternity when he wanted nothing to do with it, the least I can do is step aside so he can spend that eternity with someone who makes it worth living for him!"

"You said yourself that Damon didn't really become _Damon_ until he became a vampire so—"

"So what? I did him a favour? It doesn't matter that he was able to find his way through a situation that he was forced into, I still took a choice away from him."

"And now you're trying to take one away from me. You've never done that. Not once. And now?"

"Now it's not that simple when I'm your choice!"

"Yes it is! God." Elena put her hands to her head and clutched her hair. "Why can't you just let yourself be happy?"

"That's Damon."

"No," said Elena. "Damon … he struggles with responsibility and someone loving him, someone expecting things from him? The responsibility of that freaks him out."

"And being with you helped him overcome that."

"And you," said Elena, speaking over him. "You don't think you're being responsible unless you're unhappy. You don't think you're being a good man unless you deny yourself what you want." Elena looked at him, her eyes pleading and Stefan turned away.

"He'll know, you know," said Elena suddenly. "He'll know that I'm unhappy and that will ruin him."

"You would never tell him," said Stefan at once. "And he doesn't know now."

"Of course he does," said Elena. "We fight about you more than we fight about anything else, I just keep denying all of his suspicions. Our bond … it can't be ignored, Stefan. Not by anyone."

Elena started to approach him but Stefan took a step back, moving so that he was in front of the painted altar. He couldn't bear for Elena to touch him in that dress, it would kill him.

"Elena, please," he begged.

She didn't listen and came toward him, his eyes closed and his face turned away from her but Elena put her palms on the sides of his face and brought his gaze to her. "Stefan," she said. "Stefan. I love you. OK? We can't hide from this anymore."

Stefan leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips, one hand on her cheek, the other on her back, feeling the corset ties that fastened her dress. He tortured himself with the taste of her tongue, the softness of her lips; utterly ripped himself apart with rediscovering the feeling of coming home, of finding solace and thrill in her arms, in their hold. Elena threw her arms around Stefan's neck, melding into his body, arching her back to push herself deeper into the kiss, into _him_ , their embrace an eternalized moment beneath the painted altar.

"If you really love me," said Stefan between kisses, his breathing ragged, his eyes finally giving way to tears, his lips swollen and burning, his hands trembling against Elena's face. "If you really love me you'll marry him. You'll do that for me. Elena, please." He kissed her again, closing his eyes, feeling more tears stream down his face. "Please."

"That's my brother for you," said a voice. Elena and Stefan pulled away from each other turning toward the door where Damon stood, his expression unreadable. "Always putting others first."


	3. Chapter 3: Revelations

"That's my brother for you," said a voice. Elena and Stefan pulled away from each other turning toward the door where Damon stood, his expression unreadable. "Always putting others first."

For a moment no one said anything and only stood still, the distant clattering of the downstairs guests rumbling beneath them, and then Elena and Stefan spoke at the same time. "Damon…"

 _"What?"_ Damon's voice rang out, gruff with rage. He clenched his fists. "What are you going to say to me, that you're sorry?"

"We _are_ sorry," said Elena emphatically.

Stefan moved toward the door. "Damon, we—"

"Shut up, Stefan," said Damon sharply.

"This wasn't how —"

"Dammit, Stefan, _shut up!"_ Damon threw out his fist so that it connected to the wall next to him, punching a hole through the mural. Elena flinched and Stefan's pained expression deepened.

"Damon, listen to me," he said. "Listen to me! I'm sorry. OK? _I'm sorry._ I didn't want you to —"

"To what?" he shouted. "Find out this way?"

"I didn't want you to find out at all! I didn't want you to hear any of that or know any of that—"

"It's true," said Elena quickly. "I did this, I went to him. This is my fault. God, Damon, believe me," Elena's tone turned desperate. "Stefan, he didn't want—"

Stefan turned quickly toward her. "Elena, stop. I did this as much as you —"

There was a sudden crash and Stefan snapped his head back toward the door and saw pieces of what looked like a shattered vase on the floor next to Damon's feet. Damon's mouth was contorted into a sneer, his eyes wild. _"Both_ of you stop talking. The two of you defending each other and all of the 'we's, it makes me want to … I just want … I — I —" He let out a yell and picked up a miniature clock from the mantelpiece next to him, hurtling it across the room so that it broke apart against the wall opposite of him.

"Damon, I swear to you," said Stefan. "That I didn't want any of this to happen."

"You keep saying that to me like it's supposed to make me feel better," said Damon. "No, you didn't want me to find out, you would've just rather me marry someone who doesn't love me!"

"She _does_ love you!"

 _"Not like how she loves you!"_ The words tore through Damon's throat, each syllable a guttural sound full of vitriol. He turned to Elena. "Isn't that right?"

Elena didn't respond.

 _"Isn't that right, Elena?"_

Damon's shouting made Elena flinch again. She spoke quietly. "I really thought I could be with you forever," she whispered. "Because Stefan is right, I do love you, Damon, I just—"

"You just never unfell for Stefan, right?" said Damon harshly. "Even after all this time, it's still the same isn't it? You care about me, you _really_ do, but you love him, it's always going to be Stefan, _right?"_

Elena bit her trembling lip as tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping from her chin. "I'm not trying to hurt you," she said. "I don't like that I'm doing this to you, Damon, I hate it. I hate myself for how much pain you're in but this is … it's bigger than …" She sniffed and took a deep breath in.

"Well don't stop now," said Damon more quietly but still venomously.

"I don't love _anyone_ the way I love Stefan," said Elena. "Damon, when I'm with you, I forget about everything and everyone, it's like we're in a vacuum. Nothing else matters, it's just you and me in one amazing moment but …" Elena pressed her lips together. "But when I'm with Stefan…" She paused and glanced at Stefan who was also teary-eyed. "It's not a vacuum, it's everything but a vacuum. He fills me with hope, hope for the future, for the present, he reminds me to appreciate what's happened in the past, good and bad … being with him reminds me of everything I can get out of life, and all of that possibility, I want that for myself, I want that for my friends and for Jeremy and I'm in love with him for that and I want to experience … everything with him. I…" Elena looked at Damon's face and then let her voice trail away.

Damon turned to Stefan, his eyes wide and intense and angry. "Is that how you feel?" he said.

"How I feel doesn't matter," said Stefan dully.

"I'm asking you how you feel, you owe it to me to tell me," said Damon, his voice rising.

"Nothing will come from it anyway," said Stefan. "I'm not going to—"

Another yell ripped through the room and seemed to shake the walls. Damon charged toward Stefan, grabbing him by his jacket and shouted in his face. "STOP BEING SO DAMN NOBLE. ALWAYS THE GOOD BROTHER. WHAT'S GOOD ABOUT LOVING ANOTHER MAN'S FIANCEE? WHAT'S RIGHTEOUS ABOUT THAT? _ARGH!"_ And Damon punched Stefan with such force that his blood splattered onto Elena's dress and he fell onto the floor. Elena screaming his name in the background, Damon rushed forward and dragged Stefan up by the collar of his shirt only to punch him again. Stefan's hands stayed limply at his sides.

"FIGHT BACK!" Damon shouted as he knocked his fist into Stefan's jaw yet again. "FIGHT BACK AND ADMIT IT, ADMIT HOW MUCH YOU WANT HER. ADMIT HOW MUCH YOU HATED SEEING ME WITH HER ALL THIS TIME."

"I'm sorry," said Stefan, his voice thick and his words almost incoherent because of all of the blood and the bruising. "I'm so _so_ sorry…"

"STOP _SAYING_ THAT."

Damon struck him again, harder and harder.

"I'm so sorry, Damon … so sorry…"

"Damon, stop it!" Elena shrieked. "Please stop it!"

"ADMIT IT!"

Stefan continued to mumble apologies and Damon continued to pummel him so that his face was unrecognizable with the bruises and the cuts and the swelling; blood dripped from his mouth and his eyes started to flutter.

"Sorry…"

Damon raised his hand to hit him again but then he suddenly felt a weight around his shoulders, pulling him back. After a minute he realized that Elena was dragging him away from Stefan and she pushed him so that he was slammed against the mantelpiece on the other side of the room. Almost immediately, Damon regrouped and charged back toward Stefan, his fist already raised, but as he approached his brother, Elena blocked his path so that he had to stop short so he wouldn't collide with her. They were a breath away from each other, Damon's fist inches away from Elena's face, her expression sad and determined. Damon glowered at her as he lowered his hand. He looked behind her to Stefan who was spitting out blood and breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut, his face a constant grimace because of the pain and then turned to walk out of the room.

Stefan spoke, his voice a rasp. "Damon," he said. _"Damon!"_

Slowly and wordlessly, Damon turned back around.

"You said I owed you telling you how I feel," said Stefan. "OK fine." He coughed out some more blood and winced then looked at Elena. "I love you, Elena. I never stopped loving you. And I never will. And there is nothing I want more than to be with you." Stefan paused and heaved a great sigh then turned back to Damon. "Nothing except being with my brother again too."

Damon stared at Stefan for what seemed like ages. "You know I'm not even going to wish you an eternity of misery this time, Stefan," he said in an almost ponderous tone. "No, I'm just going to wish that you keep being who you are. It's pretty much the same thing anyway."

And with one last contemptuous look at him and Elena, Damon left the room, his speed making him a blur of colour. Elena looked at the spot Damon left for a few moments before bending down next to Stefan and placing her hands on his face, examining his cuts, stroking his hair and his eye and his jaw.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," said Stefan. "I'm already healing, I can feel it." He held Elena by the wrists so she could stop touching different parts of his face but he didn't move her hands away. He looked up at her, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes raw and blazing. He swallowed hard.

"Elena…"

"I know," she whispered, nodding her head. "Whatever chance there was before … it's gone now."

Stefan's lips parted as he let go of Elena's wrists, returning her hands to her, and he gazed at her open-mouthed. "I love you so much…"

"I know," she said again. "I love you too."

"At least we have that."

"Yes," said Elena. "At least we have that."

Elena allowed her weight to give way so that she was no longer stooping above the floor but sitting down next to Stefan in her bloodied dress, her legs curled beneath her. She sat, heaving, trying to contain the sobs in her chest and then rested her head on Stefan's shoulder, clutching his arm. After a beat, Stefan enclosed her knee in his hand, leaning the side of his face against the top of her head and both of them cried silently for what they at least had.


	4. Chapter 4: First Time And The Hundredth

Elena was in bed; the same place she'd been in for two weeks, the same place she'd been in since what would've been her wedding day if she'd been able to go through with marrying Damon. She lay on her side, her face buried in the pillow, and listened to the storm thunder down on the roof. Rain lashed against the windows and she stared out to the dark grey sky, remembering how Caroline and Alaric told the bewildered guests to go home after she'd explained to both of them that there'd be no ceremony; to how Stefan gazed at her with anguish before setting off to find Damon.

Stefan. Damon.

Elena's eyes welled simply thinking their names. Remorse swelled in her gut at the memory of Damon's furious grief. She'd cried for days over the pain she'd caused him, over how far and how long she'd led him on, for how her inability to be honest with herself and with him and with Stefan had taken Damon away from his brother. Again. It was all because of her, everything was _always_ because of her and yet … and yet … and yet she didn't feel ashamed or regretful about what she'd revealed. How could she when Stefan inspired none of those feelings in her, when loving Stefan had always been her source of comfort and solace, when his love for her had always provided her with strength. But she'd ruined that too, ruined any chance of being in the heart of that like she used to be when they were together; now she only had the memory of that safety and the knowledge that Stefan wanted to envelope her in it again and for always. But he couldn't and she couldn't ask him to and that was …

Tears started to run down Elena's face, hot and fast; she didn't bother to wipe them away. Knowing that she and Stefan would never be together devastated her with a loss similar to what she'd experienced before ever meeting him; the feeling that from now on life would only be a pale imitation of what she'd enjoyed when they were together, of what she hoped to enjoy again after they'd admitted their ever-present connection to each other. She would suffer what she'd suffered after her parents died — being only half-present, half-engaged in the world around her; sure she would find it in herself to carry on with her life, to laugh at her friends' jokes, to make her way through college but none of it would bring her the joy it would've if Stefan were by her side experiencing it all with her. It was beyond never feeling happy again, she would never feel wholly _complete_ without him; she would forever be haunted by the sensation that something was missing from her life.

But then, at the same time, Elena in a way welcomed the pain she was in — it was a reminder of what she felt for Stefan, of what he felt for her. Beneath the heartache was the simple fact that the two of them shared a bond that was unshakeable. Even with the amount of time that passed since they'd been together, even with the both of them exploring different relationships, even with the amount of tests they'd had to face from compulsion to the humanity switch to death, their love for each other never eroded or disappeared, and that comforted Elena; it was something she couldn't lose because she knew it was something she'd rely on to get through the days to come. She'd always relied on it. When she'd first been introduced to the existence of the supernatural, when Vicki Donovan had died, it was the most scared she'd ever been and she'd wished that she'd never met Stefan on the first day of junior year, wished he'd never opened her eyes to a world that had done nothing but wreak havoc on her town and on her peace of mind, but still she couldn't bring herself to make herself forget him. She couldn't bring herself to banish what she felt for and about him because it was the only feeling she had that was strong enough and good enough to get her through the bad. Even when Stefan had come back to Mystic Falls broken by Klaus, a malicious shadow of the man she'd fallen in love with, her faith in that man returning, her love for that man had been what kept her going through all of the destruction, it was her drive and her will. And it would be again.

Still, Elena struggled for two weeks. A clash between the pain and the gratefulness she had for that pain battled within her, numbing her body and tormenting her mind with conflict, and then there were moments, _excruciating_ moments, in which she was overtaken by a longing so intense it almost smothered her. It was a longing that aggravated her own sorrow, that agitated her own barely controlled urge to seek Stefan out and throw her arms around him, that called to the desire for his lips, his touch, his _gaze_ that ached heavy in her chest, but it was a longing that didn't feel entirely like her own. There was a wildness to it that made the longing almost a chaotic force raging throughout her body, pushing at her insides to get out, to be satiated, that made it hard for her to simply breathe. There was such power in it, such passion and such honesty and it flooded Elena with familiarity because all of it felt like … well, it felt like Stefan. Felt like his nature, his character. It felt like she was experiencing Stefan's longing for her within her own body and that peaked her own yearning for him in the harshest way. A part of Elena waited for those moments with melancholic anticipation because she was, for a brief while, at one with Stefan and knew exactly what he was feeling and the intimacy of that nourished her. The other part of her cursed the moments for overpowering her because it only served to remind her of what she and Stefan were denying themselves and the agonizing consequences of their denial. She was as far away from him as she could stand, staying in the guestroom at Bonnie's house, and yet she felt him in her bones, like how she had suffered his suffering the summer he drowned repeatedly in the quarry.

Thunder rumbled and the rain pounded on the roof even harder than before; lightning flashed outside, momentarily `turning the sky a shocking white and wind rattled the windows, hissing and howling through the cracks of the house. It had been a while since a storm like this waged its way through Mystic Falls but even with all of the noise, Elena could hear them muttering downstairs, hear Caroline's frantic whispers.

"She's been in bed for two weeks, that isn't healthy! I'm going to go up there."

"No, Caroline," said Bonnie. "She said she wants to be alone, we have to respect that."

"I still don't even know what happened. Alaric is off with Damon God knows where, Stefan isn't picking up his phone … aren't you the least bit curious why our best friend isn't Mrs Elena Salvatore right now?"

"Of _course_ I am but she'll tell us when she's ready. I just don't think — hey, where are you going?"

Elena sniffled and took a deep shuddering breath, finally wiping the tears away from her eyes, mentally preparing herself for the Caroline Forbes Inquisition, which she had managed to avoid for fourteen days. But when the door creaked open and Elena shifted her position so that she was facing the entrance of the room, she wasn't looking at Caroline. For a few moments Elena didn't say anything and then he spoke, his voice soft with ironic amusement.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

Elena pressed her lips together and smiled sadly. "I'm miserable."

Jeremy pursed his own lips sympathetically and then walked over to the bed. Elena moved over so he could lie next to her, his hands behind his head. When he got comfortable, he turned his head to her. "So Caroline's freaking out."

Elena let out a weak laugh. "I know, I could hear her from up here."

"Bonnie's worried too."

"Yeah," said Elena. "I know."

Jeremy looked at her. "So what happened?" he asked quietly. "Did Damon —"

"He didn't do anything," said Elena quickly.

"Elena —"

"I'm not trying to protect him, Jer. He really didn't do anything. This isn't his fault."

"So then what? What happened?"

Elena didn't say anything but bit her lip hesitantly.

"Hey, you're my big sister," said Jeremy. "You can tell me anything."

Elena searched his expression for a few minutes and then nodded her head, taking a breath in. "The night before the wedding …" she sighed. "I told Stefan I was in love with him. It wasn't something I just realized, it was just something I couldn't pretend not to feel anymore because I felt it ever since I met him, you know? It never went away." Elena pushed her mouth to the side. "Well he wanted me to marry Damon anyway but then …" Elena started to tear up again. "Damon caught us together the day of the wedding and … I am so horrible for doing this to them."

"Have you spoken to Stefan since —"

"No," said Elena. "I couldn't bear to … I can't even… No. I haven't spoken to him."

Jeremy didn't say anything for a few minutes. "Remember when we got high the day I left Mystic Falls for … college?"

"Yeah, what about it?" said Elena, giggling in embarrassment.

Jeremy smiled and then licked his lips and then started to speak carefully. "We talked about Mom and Dad, about what it was like right after they died, how you started to get better."

Elena nodded.

"Well," Jeremy continued. "That was because of Stefan. He made you happy, I saw it. I saw how being with him made you start to heal. And even when I resented you for getting better when I was still … stuck and sad, and even when I was angry at you for lying to me about Vicki and about the town … I liked you with Stefan. I liked that he made my sister happy and I knew that you'd be OK as long as you were with him."

"So, what are you saying, Jeremy?"

"I'm saying that Stefan wouldn't want this, Elena," he said. "You in bed? Not seeing anyone for weeks? I get it, you're hurting, _believe me,_ I get that more than anyone. But Stefan wouldn't want your life to stop because of him."

Elena was quiet for a few minutes, listening to the rough pitterpatter of the storm. She knew what Jeremy said was true, that Stefan wouldn't want her to stay still, stay stuck; even when it killed him to nudge her along, even when it tore him apart to help her move forward, he never hesitated in doing it. But now that fact inspired overwhelming sadness in her, sadness that she wouldn't be able to be with the man who did that for her and that sadness triggered her gratefulness and the clash of emotions battled on within her. Suddenly, she jerked upright in bed and threw off the covers.

"Whoa, Elena, what are you doing?" said Jeremy as Elena inched her way off of the mattress.

"I don't know yet," she said. "But you're right, I can't stay here forever. I need to move, I need to go, I need to…"

"But have you _seen_ outside? You can't go anywhere in this weather."

"I'll be fine. I'm not going far. I'm not … I don't know where I'm going exactly but I … I just, I can't be in here anymore. I need to start moving forward," said Elena, rummaging through the closet for clean clothes and bathroom attire. "But I won't be gone long. Stay here until I get back. You can keep Bonnie company and —"

"Right about that," said Jeremy. He hesitated. "Has anything …" Jeremy cleared his throat. "Has anything happened between Kai and Bonnie?"

Elena stopped going through the closet and looked at him. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"No reason I just … she fell asleep on the couch last night and I heard her … mumbling his name. Thought it was … weird."

"Did she sound scared?"

"Definitely not," said Jeremy; his voice grew uncharacteristically harsh.

"Oh." Elena opened her mouth to speak but didn't know what to say and closed it again. "You know what," she said finally. "We'll talk about that later, it's a long story and I don't want to rush through it. Just … hang tight." Elena ran out of the room, a pile of clothes gathered in her arms, but a few seconds later she popped her head back into the doorway. "I've missed you, you know," she said. "You should come around more."

Jeremy grinned. "I missed you too."

And with that Elena left again.

Stefan couldn't concentrate; the thunder was deafening and the constant splash of rain echoed in his ears. He was sitting in his room, his leather-bound journal open on his desk — it had been a long time since he'd tried to write in his diary but then it had been a long time since he'd felt the need to.

For two weeks, the urge to gorge himself on human blood until he passed out into hazy bliss roared in his stomach and itched at his gums, terrorizing him with a ravenous hunger that overtook his body. But that wasn't his problem. An insatiable appetite he knew how to control. An insatiable appetite he knew how to deal with. But his hunger fuelled his longing for _her,_ to be with her, to love her unreservedly and it fuelled his longing with an almost savage intensity that Stefan ached for Elena with his entire being. He was suffocated with his want for her but was also frantic for the way only she could soothe him, settle the ripper within him, and it all reminded him of the pain he'd caused Damon, which in turn agitated his hunger, starting the cycle all over again. He was consumed with brotherly guilt, bound by familial obligation and devastated with the desire to run to the one person with whom he was happiest … to run to Elena. And so he wrote. Or tried to.

The first three days after Damon's would-be wedding day, Stefan was solely concerned with finding him; he tracked any and every suspicious murder or hospital break-in, mapping out his findings on his bedroom wall. Finally, he'd found out that Damon and Alaric were in Amsterdam and when Alaric had answered his phone after seventeen messages and four dozen missed calls, he'd explained to Stefan their plan to drink their way through every country in Europe. The moment the call ended, Stefan bought a plane ticket to join them so he could talk to Damon, plead with him, try and make him understand that he really did want him to be happy even if that happiness meant Stefan was denied his. He'd had a plan. A speech. But then he made his way to the airport and he … missed his flight. He watched the passengers board, watched the plane take off, and then he sat in the terminal for six hours afterward.

He couldn't leave Mystic Falls.

He couldn't leave partly because he knew that Alaric's warnings of, "Back off, let him grieve" had merit; Stefan was the last person Damon wanted to see and if he showed up in Amsterdam uninvited and unannounced, things could and probably would get ugly. Violent. _Homicidal._ But if Stefan was honest with himself, he couldn't leave Mystic Falls mostly because he couldn't leave Elena. Not even for a few days.

They wouldn't be together. He wouldn't let that happen. He _couldn't_ let that happen. But he also couldn't bear to be too far away from her; even if he never saw her or interacted with her, just being in the same town she was, a half hour drive away from where she was staying, just knowing he was walking the streets she was walking, provided him with a consolation he couldn't lose even if it tormented him as much as it comforted him because while the anguish of being apart from her seared his throat at least he was near her. At least he was in her proximity, close to where she was. It was the best he would ever get. And whenever Stefan had reached that realization in the past two weeks, he was, without warning, hit with an overpowering sense of…despair, of loss that bit his longing for Elena with a desperation that made him clench his hair with frustration, that made him envision being with her, above her, within her, repeatedly and with cruel clarity. And yet the despondency didn't belong to him, he could feel Elena in it; there was an earnest quality to the sadness that overcame him, an unfiltered and therefore brutal purity to the misery that Stefan knew, without question, belonged to her and it pained him almost to craze that she was that sad, that he was making her that sad but he couldn't go to her. He just … he just couldn't … he…

Thunder cracked loud and sharp and Stefan snapped his head toward his bedroom door, the white glare of the lighting etching out his silhouette. He heard nothing but the storm but he sensed … he _felt_ …

Swiftly, he stood up from his chair and rushed out of his bedroom, running down the stairs, his feet loud and clunky on the steps, his mind racing. He sped into the foyer and wrenched open the front door. Elena had just made it onto the porch, out of breath and completely soaked; her hair stringy and wet, her jeans and sweater sodden. She stared at him, her eyebrows furrowed and Stefan looked at her rain-washed face, his jaw tremoring at seeing her pained expression.

"I have to leave, Stefan," she said, yelling above the noise of the storm. "Too many people have gotten hurt. Too much has happened."

"What?" said Stefan, stepping out of the doorway and onto the porch. He was drenched almost immediately; the bluster of the wind had made the rainfall haphazard and powerful. "No. This is your home, your friends are here, this _house_ is yours —"

"I have to," said Elena. "I can't _be_ here, Stefan. I …" She shook her head quickly and ran both of her hands through her wet hair. "Do you know how hard it is to be so close to you and not be able to be with you? For two weeks I stayed in bed because I knew the moment I left Bonnie's house, the moment I just left the room, I'd rush over here to see you and …"

"So I'll leave," said Stefan. "If anyone has to go it should be —"

 _"No!"_ Elena's yell was outdone by another burst of thunder and the downpour pounded on them still even harder.

"I'm not going far, just back on campus," said Elena. "But I can't do this. I can't not be a part of your life but be reminded of you every day. And I can't ask you to be with me, I can't ask you to put me before Damon, that isn't fair to you. Or him. So…" Elena took a steadying breath, trying not to blubber. "I know it doesn't seem like it, Stefan, but I'm also doing this for you."

Stefan looked up to the sky, sniffing loudly to keep himself from crying anymore, wiping the rain out of his eyes. Elena's lips started to tremble and quickly she turned around to head back toward her car. Stefan watched her go, her figure illuminated in flashes with each appearance the lightning made, forked in the sky.

He felt it all.

Their combined desperation for him to act on his own urges and to fulfill Elena's wishes was an unbearable knot that twisted in his chest and choked his throat. His blood screamed with the sheer anguish Elena was in having to walk away from him; that same sense of crushing loss, of her crushing loss, lay waste to his body, and a chasm burrowed in his gut so that it was as if a part of him was missing. Stefan squeezed his eyes shut. Normally, he'd react to this kind of sorrow by numbing his senses but he couldn't because it was Elena's grief, not his, and instead it intensified his yearning for her, deepened his reckless need to kiss her pain away, to hold her until she felt safe, to embrace her and feel her, to never let her go. And he knew she felt his need, he knew it was a constant twinge in her chest that crazed her. It was nothing short of torture to feel this kind of love, to share this kind of love and not engage in it; Stefan felt suffocated by his own discipline. It was intolerable, it was excruciating, it was … it was …

 _"Wait!"_

Elena stopped walking, standing a few feet away from her car, and turned around to face Stefan. For a split second they gazed at each other, their eyes forging a link between them, and then Stefan walked purposefully toward her, his feet splashing in miniature puddles, and he thrust his lips against hers, seizing either side of her face with his hands, clutching onto her as if daring her to try and walk away from him. Elena immediately slipped her hands around to the back of Stefan's head, the wet strands of his hair tickling her fingers, and pushed herself deeper into the kiss, her mouth opening his with frenzy, with _greed._ She moaned quietly at the taste of his tongue, the soft sincerity of his lips, as Stefan flattened his palms against her spine, squeezing her to him, his nails digging into the material of her sweater, itching to pierce through and feel her, really feel her. Elena arched her back and stood up on tiptoe, her arms around his neck, feeling at once complete and in dire need of more, as if no amount of time with Stefan would ever make up for the time she'd gone without him. Stefan gripped her waist, her hips, relishing the simple fact that she was against him, wanting so severely to leave her breathless and anchored, stunned and grounded. All of his wants, all of her hopes, the full extent of their pain and their yearning passed between them in this kiss, wreaking havoc on their bodies, culminating into a suffocating desire to — to —

Elena wrenched away from Stefan and he contracted with anguished bewilderment. _No!_ He felt the word reverberate throughout his entire body; his very core was screaming "no", screaming for her to return to him. But just as quickly as she pulled away from the kiss did Elena put her hands at the bottom of Stefan's shirt and hastily pull it up and over his head, throwing it onto the ground. The rain shattered down on Stefan's bare back and Elena lunged forward, pressing her lips against his neck, smoothing her palms over the tautness of his chest, the curve of his shoulders and she nipped her way along his jaw, down to his collarbone, making Stefan close his eyes and sigh, his hand grasping her waist. Elena's kissing inflamed his skin and seemed to almost burn the raindrops on his torso. He grabbed either side of her face yet again and lifted her head upward, kissing her voraciously, groaning as she tugged on his lower lip with her teeth. He used his speed to push her back to the porch and against a wall, her back slamming against the brick of the Salvatore Mansion, his body slamming against hers. With a jerk Stefan ripped the front of Elena's sweater in half, his fingers already undoing her bra clasp. He kissed her beneath her jaw, along her throat, her gasps urging him on, inflaming his already riotous desire for her. He brushed his lips against her ear and savoured the heat of her chest against his, the rain acting as a coolant on their incensed skin.

"Elena…" he breathed in her ear. He felt her back arch for a second time and suddenly she had moved from the wall, pushing him back and onto the wet stone of the porch, sitting astride him. Her mouth was on his with such force, her hand beneath his chin, his hand tangled in her hair; he raised his head off the ground to respond to Elena's fervour with zeal of his own. Elena broke away from the kiss, sitting upright, to move her hair out of her face, spraying Stefan with even more water droplets, and Stefan slid his hands up Elena's hips. To her waist. To her stomach. To her breasts. He felt the dips and shallows of her skin with his entire self. Elena gazed down at him, her lips parted, as his palms explored her body, discovered her body, _memorized_ her body. For the first time and for the hundredth.

In one swift motion, Stefan turned so that Elena was beneath him, her legs wrapped around his middle, their faces a breath away from each other, but he didn't kiss her. Stefan hovered above her, piercing his eyes into hers, allowing and inviting her eyes to stare fixedly into his, and he felt Elena unfold into him in the same moment he gave himself to her. For the first time and for the hundredth.

Elena reached up and caressed Stefan's parted lips with her thumb, her eyes never once leaving his.

"I never stopped loving you," she whispered. "Never."

And Stefan brought his lips to Elena's again, the rain showering upon their entwined bodies.


End file.
